


Expectations

by landrews



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mini-Cooper Fic, Team Fluff, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landrews/pseuds/landrews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Booth expects one thing, Bones does another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime towards the end of S1- well after the events of 'Two Bodies In The Lab'
> 
> Written May 2006 in response to a Psychofilly icon challenge- the icon featured Jack's mini-Cooper.

 

_“Brennan”_

Booth shifts his phone to the opposite ear while he pulls on his suit coat. “It’s Booth. Are you at the lab?”

_“Yes. I’ve got a skull reconstruction to finish and I’m waiting on labs for Boynton. Did you track down his daughter?”_

“Uh, yeah. I need you to come get me.”

_“Why?”_ In work mode, she sounds distracted.

“Bullets. Radiator. Not good.”

_“Bullets?”_ she says sharply, and Booth feels an odd thrill that he has garnered her full attention.

“Boynton’s daughter has, maybe, a problem with him.”

_“Where are you?”_

“Field office. I’ll be outside.”

_“Okay,”_ she says, and he knows he’s gotten away without having to explain all the details.

*

It’s just chilly enough to feel good out. Booth stands on the steps and watches the people walking by. Antonia’s holding a table for him, his collarbone’s hardly sore, even after the bullet bounce off his Kevlar, and all the shattered windshield glass brushed out of his hair without a single drop of blood. 

Forty minutes go by and it’s looking like his plan to waylay Bones into a late dinner is sliding by before he’s even put it into action. He flicks his phone from its holster and hits Bones on speed dial.

_“Brennan,”_ she says.

“Bones! Where are you?” And then he spots the mini-Cooper turning the corner. His stomach falls thirteen stories. “You didn’t.”

_“I didn’t what?”_ Bones says, off in outer space somewhere, but definitely not here on the planet.

“You sent Hodgins.”

_“You need a ride, he’s headed home, I’ve got this…”_

“Skull reconstruction. Yeah, you said. Night, Bones.” He hangs up before she can answer, just as Jack bumps to a halt at the curb.

Booth never thought to ever, ever ride in that cramped little box ever again. Great.

“C’mon, Booth!” Jack shouts up to him. “Let’s roll!”

*

Clattering down E Street, Booth unhunches a little, realizing he can. The little shit box actually has a bit of leg room. Last time he was too beat up to even think about stretching out. He very cautiously leans back and lets go a bit of the tension that wires him together every day. 

Jack turns right onto Thirteenth and it’s just so weird. “How do you steer with the wheel on the wrong side?” Before Jack can respond, Booth thinks of a better question. “Is that even legal here?”

“Practice and yes. Hey, Zach and I missed lunch, you wanta get some dinner?”

With Bones, Booth thinks. “Zach?”

“Hi.” Zach says from behind him.

Booth jumps. “Jesus Christ!”

“Gotcha!” Jack says.

Booth can’t even crane around in his seat far enough to see how the hell Zach is crammed into the back.

“So,” Jack says. “Dinner?”

“Whatever.”

*

Three hours later, Booth is drunker than he ever thought he would be with anyone squint-like. That’s to say, Zach has become impossible to ignore, his stories having made Booth long to give Parker siblings, and he’s slightly buzzed when Jack hands him the mini-Cooper’s keys.

“You better drive,” Jack says, leaning forward on his toes and enunciating every word.

Booth packs them in and slides behind the wheel. It isn’t until trying to fit the key into the left-sided ignition that Booth understands slightly buzzed is too buzzed to drive a right-handed car through the left-handed streets of Washington, D.C. and still be a member of the Bureau by dawn.

_“Brennan.”_

“Yeah. Booth. Are you still at the lab?”

_“Yes, Booth. Skull reconstruction.”_ She sounds pissed. Booth’s just glad David is also missing her tonight.

“Um.”

_“Yes?”_

“We’re at Kinkead’s, the valet's not happy. Is there any chance… y’know, Jack’s car…” 

She sighs. It warms Booth’s soul, and, boy, that’s just wrong. He knows it, even slightly buzzed.

_“Yes.”_ She hangs up without saying good-bye.

Booth listens to Jack ramble about Watergate and Zach snoring soft, like Parker does, and isn’t surprised when Angela knocks on the window twenty minutes later.

“Hi,” she says. “Scoot over, sweetie.”

He can’t, of course. He has to lumber out and go around. He’s opening the other door, wondering if Jack's going to have to sit in his lap, when he notices Bones’ convertible pulling out three spots down. He steps into the road, but she drives all the way up to him before stopping. Really. His hand’s on the hood, and he’s taken three steps back before she’s at a full halt. 

He holds both hands up, fingers spread. She looks as pissed as she sounded on the phone. He’s not at all sure she won’t rip off without him. Around her, he’s See B., High School Jock, and feels just as sophisticated. Gone is the Ranger and gone is the Agent. See B. rules.

Moving like Agent Booth though, he gets the passenger door open before she hits the gas.

“Bones. Please.”

She rolls her eyes and waves him in. 

He insists on stopping for pizza with chicken and artichokes, and then insists she eats it. The skull is reconstructed by three am, Bones is home by four, and all alone in Bones’ sweet, little ride, Booth manages eighty in a thirty-five, to fall in bed by five.

 


End file.
